does it come in olive drab or urban black?

scratching for a godlike view,

and disappointed when the expected cliche

failed to hatch from the golden egg,

the swoon he swore would soon

have her trembling at his feet, panting,

was nothing more than the vapor

of a boiling stew of wishes,

hormones, and too many views

of the swaggering men

of books and movies.

he wondered, does it come in olive drab?

desert camouflage or urban black?

what script shall i play out, the scholar or

the scoundrel?

and the fool, saw wisps of splendor

rendered solid in the vapors

lit by footlights, a trick that required

his participation. and a story big enough

to satisfy his lust and ignorance.

or shall i be kind, and attribute it to naivete?

well as the children say: whatever.

suffice it to………….

stipulate, it was a kind of replacement

for the missing parts,

the love that stewed in a weedy pond

inhabited by snakes and frogs,

and wriggly stuff squirming in the muck.

he opted for olive drab and black schemes.

which felt much less appealing when

he found a woman who said she'd

teach him how to fuck.

-for fifty bucks an hour.

the world looked a little brighter then,

more disney than peckinpah,

and he looked at his bunk and the locker,

the trucks and the guns, 

the bunkers and missiles.

and guys with collections of ears.

and said: this isn't hollywood toto.

so when the olive drab came off

for the final time and the khaki landed

in the trash can in the airport rest room,

and especially those wretched hard black shoes,

he was ready for art and costume,

exuberance, and frisky frisco girls.

a camera…….art school……..

he wore yellow crushed velour hot pants,

went prancing and dancing at the discos,

drinking gold cadillacs and tequila sunrises,

and found a frisky frisco girl, eventually.